Depression
by Broken Kindle
Summary: Martha-centric fic. 'Her heart sank, and she realised, for the first time, that creating the Identity unit was just a way of distraction, a way of trying to escape the dark cloud which loomed constantly over her.' T for sensitive issues
1. Play Pretend

**Disclaimer: I do not own Identity or any of the related characters. **

**A/N: This is just a quick one-shot I decided to write. It could be turned into something a bit more substantial but I thought I'd submit it as is for now. Do tell me if you'd like to see some more added. Reviews and crits are welcome.**

Who knew that a smile could hide such pain and sorrow? She hid it well, masked it with laughs and grins – all those little things that display happiness so effectively. But she couldn't hide it, not truly, not forever. Everything had to come out sooner or later. She couldn't escape the inevitable. The moment she was alone it was there, taunting, mocking. '_Do it._' the little voice in her head told her, '_No one will miss you._' She argued against it. There was the Identity unit, she reasoned, that team she had put together, they would miss her... wouldn't they? The voice persisted, '_Bloom wouldn't miss you._' It told her, '_To him you're no more than a thorn in the backside; and that's what this is all about isn't it Martha? Bloom._' She remembered when she had been kidnapped, when they had tried to torture her. She remembered how her captor had known that she had already given up the fight, considered ways to end it. Her heart sank, and she realised, for the first time, that creating the Identity unit was just a way of distraction, a way of trying to escape the dark cloud which loomed constantly over her. She also realised that particular plan of getaway had, ultimately, failed quite miserably. No matter where she was she breathed in the depression as though it were a thick smog hanging over her, ever present, it was as much a part of her as her heart and brain, both of which she scolded regularly, and it followed her everywhere she went. It was in the air she breathed, the food she ate, the water she drank. Everywhere; and it was slowly eating away at her. She could neither hide from it nor hide it for much longer. The smog was growing ever thicker, the clouds ever darker and her resistance ever weaker. Sooner or later they would find out. Sooner or later her cover would be blown and she would be exposed for all the world to see.


	2. Early Birds and Razor Blades

**Disclaimer: I do not own Identity or any of the related characters. **

**A/N: So I decided to continue thanks to the wonderful reviews I recieved from XTimeGirlX and Your Worst Nightmare -x-, thank you so much those comments really made my day! XTimeGirlX's review gave me some ideas and I went back over some of the episodes to see if I could find anything to help, so most of the ideas in the rest of this fic will come from the way Martha says things and the things she says in the series. The chapters are going to be quite short I think, but hopefully you'll still enjoy them! Reviews and crits are welcomed.

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Martha Lawson sighed heavily rubbing her temples wearily. Still nothing. She yawned. How long had she been here anyway? How long had she sat awake at her desk? She didn't even need to be at the office yet. The Detective Superintendant looked at her watch. 6:30, it read, half an hour early to work. It also meant that she had been at the office for exactly two hours. She laughed bitterly, two and a half hours early to work. It was as if she was trying to prove she had no social life. Sighing again she lifted herself from her chair, she needed coffee or she'd never last the day.

* * *

"Martha?" the voice was quiet, distant, as though she were submersed in water, "Martha?" slowly it became louder, and louder until, "Martha?" Tessa's voice cut through her daze and she looked up, "Martha are you all right?" Martha flinched mentally, the last time Tessa had asked that question she had just been patched up by a paramedic after the kidnapping incident. She smiled weakly,

"I'm fine Tessa." The tech whizz looked at her incredulously, "Really."

"Martha." She said sternly, the tone of voice you might expect from a lightly scolding parent or teacher, "You've been out of it all morning. You're on your fifth coffee already, you've been in the office since 4:30 this morning – yes I do know about that, I'm the tech whizz here remember - and, no offense, you look like hell. Besides that you're still recovering from the kidnapping." Martha flinched, "Fine doesn't even touch on how you are right now."

"Tessa." She replied curtly, "Leave it, I'm fine."

"What were you even doing here at 4:30 in the -?"

"I said leave it." Tessa reeled back at the frosty tone of her boss' voice. She stammered as she tried to speak, thought better of it and turned to take up her seat at the computer screens once more.

* * *

The day went by painfully slowly. Seconds seemed like minutes and minutes like hours, and by the time half the day had been and gone Martha was beginning to feel like she'd been there for days. She hadn't slept in as long, and it was showing. The bags under her eyes were dark, almost like bruises, and she had been drinking coffee by the bucket load. Absentmindedly she shoved her hand in her coat pocket, which she hadn't bothered to take off since her quick excursion at lunch, and found solace in the sharp edge of the small razor blade she had left in there. At first she stroked the blade with her thumb, as though petting a small animal, then she took it in her hand and closed her fingers around it, entrapping it in her palm. She gripped it tightly, letting out a soft gasp as the metal cut into her skin and the warm blood pooled in the palm of her hand, trickling slowly down her fingers. Then she realised where she was. _Shit._ She thought.


	3. Blood, Chat and Tears

**Disclaimer: I do not own Identity of any of the related characters**.

**A/N: Another short chapter. I quite like writing them like this, somehow it makes me more motivated. Anyway, I decided to include some more Tessa plus some Anthony and Jose. I think Tessa is probably my favourite secondary character. Thanks for another lovely review XTimeGirlX, greatly appreciated and very motivating! I'm trying to be sensitive about the whole issue of depression and self-harming here. Like XTimeGirlX said in her review, self-harming isn't about self-pity or selfishness, it's about depression and mental health and it's an issue I take very seriously. So enjoy this chapter but while you do think about the real people that this is happening to. Reviews and crits are welcome - they feed my creativity.

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**Standing up from the desk shakily Martha headed in the direction of the toilets, her right hand still buried deep inside her coat pocket. She just hoped no one else was in there; she had neither the patience to explain herself nor the strength and energy to argue. She strode purposefully through the centre of the room, any questions or comments falling on deaf ears. Right now all she wanted to do was get to the toilet and clean up. She was too distracted to hear anything. Her mind was occupied by too many thoughts; Why hadn't her search turned up anything yet? What would the unit think of her if they found out? Why couldn't she just go back to when she didn't have a care in the world? She had so many questions, but so few yielded answers and right then all she wanted to do was find somewhere she could sit alone and cry. Cry until all the tears dried up; cry until it hurt to breathe. Crying wouldn't solve anything, but it was all she could do.

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Anthony, Tessa and Jose sat together at the conference table, each waiting on one of the others to start the conversation. They all knew why they were sitting there, but none of them were willing to begin that line of discussion,

"Martha's not herself." Anthony stated, after some time, by way of starting the conversation, "She hasn't been since we got her back."

"She's been out of it all day." Tessa concurred, "I tried to confront her about it, but she just snapped."

"She looks exhausted," Jose added, "Did she sleep last night?" the tech whizz shrugged and shook her head,

"No idea. But she has been in since 4:30 this morning, so I doubt it." The two men looked at her with raised eyebrows, "What? I checked the security cameras." She sighed, "She sat in the same place for two hours. She had some files out, and she was using her computer for something."

"D'you reckon that's what has her worked up?" Jose asked curiously, "The files I mean."

"Maybe." Anthony replied gruffly, "She's been acting like this ever since Bloom left." Tessa sighed heavily. This was going to be a long day, a very long day indeed.

* * *

Slowly Martha took her hand from her pocket. Her palm was covered in blood, some dried and some still oozing from the fresh wound at the centre. The blade was still lodged neatly between skin and flesh and she had to pluck it out carefully before she could clean up. She dropped the tiny razor blade back in her coat pocket, which was now sticky and crusty from the blood which had seeped out into it and then she stood staring at herself in the mirror. '_Pathetic Martha.'_ The little voice in her head told her, '_You're pathetic'._ She lifted her bloodied hand to the mirror, '_You're a failure.' _The voice persisted, '_You can't find anything about it._' No, she admitted, she couldn't. How long had she been searching now? A stray tear trickled down her face before she snapped herself from her reverie. She should clean up and get back, or they'd wonder where she was.


	4. Questions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Identity or any of the related characters**

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews guys! I've never had such an amazing response to a fanfic (or so much of my own writing quoted back at me xD)! Here's another little ditty for you. Nothing amazing mind. Yes, I am well aware of how unrealistic it is for Martha to have a random old strip of material hidden away in her coat pocket. I haven't decided whether I want to bring Bloom back into the equation or not yet. Opinions? Reviews and crits are welcome - they feed my soul and creativity (and maybe my ego... just a bit).

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**Now cleaned up, with her hand hastily bandaged using a piece of old material she had found in the inside pocket of her coat, Martha made her way back to her desk. This time when walking through the room, she decided, she would stay calm and collected. If anyone asked what she had done to her hand she would blame a paper cut or the misplacement of an upturned drawing pin, something insignificant, and explain that the material had been the only available tool to stem the bleeding. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the hounds at bay and if it wasn't she had no intention of explaining further. Unanswered questions still buzzed through her head, but this time she chose to ignore them, at least for now.

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"Martha," the Detective Superintendant looked up from her desk to meet the gaze of Anthony Wareing, "we need to talk." She gave him one of her best fake smiles,

"What is it we need to talk about Anthony?" she asked lightly, her voice the polar opposite of her earlier state. He looked at her confusedly for a moment; her whole demeanour had changed in less than twenty minutes. She leant her elbows on the desk, hands clasped together calmly, forgetting the makeshift bandage she had covered her cut with, "Well?" she probed,

"I, um... well, er..." He made a few false starts before noticing the strip of material wound tightly round her right hand, "What happened to your hand?" Martha was stunned to silence for an instant, suddenly all too aware of her earlier blunder. She steadied herself mentally. '_You've prepared yourself for this Martha.'_

"Oh, just a nasty paper cut." She replied almost cheerfully, much to the surprise of Anthony, who was completely thrown by her rapid change in behaviour, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" He stared for a moment, eyeing the crude bandage before shaking his head,

"Never mind." He replied gruffly, "It can wait."

* * *

Martha let out a shaky breath. She had managed to stave off any further enquiries for now, but she had no doubt that Anthony, or Jose or Tessa, would be back, probing her for answers. She stared at the computer screen before her and considered continuing her search. A quiet discussion in the corner, however, reminded her of the presence of Tessa, resident computer genius, who could hack into her computer and files in an instant, and she decided against it. The last thing she wanted was more questions.


	5. Contemplation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Identity or any of the related characters**

**A/N: So, another very short chapter - sorry they're so short! I brought Bloom back into the equation. I have a feeling this fic may get slightly AU later on. Thanks again everyone for your reviews, story alerts etc, I really appreciate it - glad to know there are people out there enjoying this fic. Forgot to mention earlier that this fic is completely un-beta'd, any mistakes are entirely my own. Reviews and crits welcomed as always.  
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Towards the end of the day Martha was nearing breaking point. There was no case to distract her, no identity theft or unidentified bodies to keep her busy, nothing that meant she could get out of the office and talk to someone else, listen to their problems instead of wallowing in her own. Worse still, there was no case to distract the others, and that was the thing that worried her the most. If there was no case to keep them busy there was no stopping them from asking any number of questions. Any number of questions which could blow her cover completely. One little crack in her delicately built disguise was all it would take. Just one little chip and the walls and masks she had worked so hard to construct and maintain would all come crashing down around her.

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John Bloom stared vacantly at the wall, his face screwed up in thought. It had become something of a routine for him since the day he made that decision. Every day, at around the same time, he would slump on his sofa and stare at the wall thinking. Thinking about Brendan Shay. Thinking about Adile. Thinking about undercover work. Thinking about the Identity unit. Thinking about Martha. Martha... How was she doing now? The last time he had seen her under 'normal' circumstances had been at her house before she was kidnapped. She had been depressed, though she denied it, albeit a little weakly. How has she been coping since the incident? He thought of her laughing with Anthony, Jose and Tessa afterwards, but her eyes had still looked dead. She had always been distracted. His mind buzzed with memories and ideas and questions. He needed to know that she was okay. He needed to know that the Identity unity hadn't gone down the drain. Most of all he needed to know that she was happy. He couldn't stand the thought of her being depressed the way he knew she had been. He needed to know the answers and the only way he was going to find out was to talk to her.


	6. Emails and House Calls

**Disclaimer: I do not own Identity or any of the related characters**

**A/N: The plot thickens... kind of. So, I'm finally revealing the nature of Martha's search - why she's undertaking the search is still staying under wraps for now. Apologies for the uninventive Orphanage name... I was running low on juice - it was nearly two in the morning. Thanks again to everyone for their awesome reviews and for all the story alerts etc. I think it has possibly been the best response I've ever had to a fanfic. Much love to you all! Reviews and crits are welcomed as always.

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Martha watched as her unit slowly disbanded, each member saying good night before disappearing through the door and into the corridor beyond. Tessa was the last to leave, glancing at her boss reluctantly before saying her good night and walking slowly from the room. The DSI watched as the tech whizz vanished from sight and, almost immediately after, she set about bringing up records and websites on her computer. She wasted no time in reinitiating her search. She stared at the screen, scrutinising it as though that would somehow get her the results she wanted more swiftly. Then she opened it. The e-mail she had left untouched all day. She read it slowly;

_Dear Miss Lawson,_

_I apologise that it has taken so long for me to get back to you. It has been a busy time for us here and I have had little time to answer any messages unrelated to adoption. _

_I have looked through our records and have found that a girl by the name of Martha was indeed in our care at the time about which you asked. I am not, however, able to find any records of original family or surname with which you could discover who her biological parents were or what happened to them. I will continue to look into it for you, but I cannot guarantee results._

_I'm sorry I could not be of further help and sincerely hope that you find what you are looking for._

_Derek Mills, Mills' Orphanage_

She let out a shaky breath and allowed for a few tears to trickle slowly down her face. It seemed every time she took one step forward she was kicked back two.

* * *

He knocked on the door and rang the doorbell sharply. There was no form of reply, so he tried again and again, until, after his sixth or seventh attempt, he decided she was not at home and he would have to wait.

* * *

As she rounded the corner she saw him, sitting there on the step, just as he had been that day. Martha's breath caught in her throat and she stopped dead, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. He stood up and walked towards her,

"Bloom?" she spluttered in shock, "I thought..." He gave her a lopsided half-smile,

"Something was fucked." He replied simply.


	7. All the King's Horses

**Disclaimer: I do not own Identity or any of the related characters**

**A/N: Possibly the longest chapter so far. I know that the sudden change in subject from one sentence to the other is a bit weird but I kind of want the story skipping from idea to idea, like a thought process (Yes, that is just an excuse for my weird writing). Yes. I did in fact use a nursery rhyme reference. It feels odd but seems right at the same time. Hope you guys are still enjoying it! Reviews and crits feed my soul and creativity... and ego, just a bit.

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**The scene looked remarkably familiar; the two of them, standing there, drinking wine in her kitchen silently. The only difference now, Martha noted absently, was a greater quantity of bottles, boxes and cartons strewn across the workspace and a distinct lack of sunlight. John's initial cheeriness had dissolved into solemnity the moment he had stepped in the kitchen to find it in the same state as before. She remembered the last time he had been here as though it were yesterday. His excuses, his smile, his accusation. She remembered all too well the moment he had seen through her cover; _"You're depressed." _She felt a shudder travel down her spine. If he had been able to see it then, God knows what he could see now. She wrapped her free arm round her body. She felt exposed,

"What did you do to your hand?" Martha looked from the now blood soaked strip of material round her hand to John. She laughed,

"Oh, that? It's just a nasty paper cut." But when she tried to smile it faltered. He always seemed to bring out the truth in her, "I need to go put a proper dressing on it, excuse me." With that she put her wine glass down and disappeared into the bathroom.

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John didn't believe her excuse for a second, no paper cut, no matter how 'nasty', could possibly soak a piece of material in blood, not the amount Martha's supposed paper cut had anyway. She was still depressed. She tried to hide it but her eyes betrayed her. They were tired, dead, filled with sorrow and hopelessness. She was a wreck, and he knew it as well as she did. He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp and stared at the array of bottles, boxes and cartons on the work surface opposite. He noted the amount of alcohol bottles with interest, there were a significant number of empty whiskey bottles pushed hastily into the corner. He sighed and stared into space, his brow crumpled in thought. He needed to find a way to get Martha to talk to him. Easier said than done.

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Martha stared at her dishevelled reflection as she leant on the edges of the sink. She wasn't sure why she had let John back into her house. The last time she had let him in the visit had ended in disaster. She had been desperate then, she hadn't wanted Bloom to leave. She had been grasping at straws, hoping somehow she could get herself back together again. Hoping against all hope that she could pick up the broken pieces and fix herself. But if all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't do it, what chance did she have? She splashed herself with cold water, praying that it would help her forget the events of that day, wash them away – driftwood in the ocean. It worked, for a short while. She untied the crude bandage and peeled it slowly from the cut, not caring about her hand's sharp protests of pain. Before she knew it her hand was wrapped in a proper bandage and she was walking back into the kitchen. Now she just needed to avoid talking to Bloom about the kidnapping and her depression. Easier said than done.


	8. A Change of Heart

**A/N: No disclaimer this chapter... hell you got the idea after the first 3 I'm sure. Snappy Martha for you this chapter. Don't worry I'll get Bloom in there helping her out soon enough. I have a feeling this will be my longest fanfic ever... so far anyway. I also really should have been doing homework instead of this... I get distracted so easily... Anyway, many thanks to all for reviews and faves etc - cyber cookies and cakes for all! Reviews and crits please - they feed my soul, creativity etc etc**

**PS. I rediscovered this song that I think really fits with Martha's situation (especially in this fanfic and Your Worst Nightmare-x-'s fanfic 'Mixed Messages' - which you should totally go read if you haven't already). It's called 'Painkillers' by Lauren Pritchard. Go listen to it, it's a beautiful song. Now, on with the fic...  
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**As she walked back into the room Martha's eyes wandered from the cupboard she kept her iron in, to the cupboard she kept her medicine and pills in, to the empty bottles of whiskey on the workspace. All the little things she had used to try and stop the pain, to try and end the hopelessness. Things she knew could end her career if anyone found out, things she knew would be frowned upon. She snapped herself back into reality and picked up her wine glass, taking a big gulp before looking back at John. His eyes watched her, full of accusation,

"Martha, we need to talk." He told her. It was ironic that he was using the same words as Anthony had earlier, she thought,

"No, John. We don't." She replied bitterly, "I don't even know why I let you back in my house. We both know full well what happened last time."

"Martha, please..." he begged, "There's no way that's going to happen again – I left that behind."

"Don't 'please' me Bloom." She snapped fiercely, "Why should I believe you? How do you expect me to believe you when you lied to me!" He didn't have an answer to that.

* * *

He stood there dumbfounded as she glared him down, her eyes burning fiercely and her body trembling with anger. They were both lost for words, John because she had exploded like an aerosol can in a fire and Martha because of the rage rising in her gut. They stood staring at each other until finally two words made their way out of Martha's mouth,

"Get out." She hissed, her voice barely audible, "Get out." She repeated, more forcefully this time. But John refused to move,

"I can't do that Martha, you need help." She continued to glower at him, a flicker of fear and pain passing over her eyes before being replaced once again by hate and fury, "You're depressed." She froze. She could feel the cracks forming in her armour already,

"Bullshit." She replied, an undertone of hesitance in her voice, "Why would you care if I were anyway?" _'That's right Martha. He doesn't care.' _The little voice was back, _'You're a thorn in the backside, remember? He couldn't care less what happens to you.' _But why would he be back if he didn't care? _'To taunt you Martha. To show you what you could have had. So he can laugh at you when he goes back and tells his girlfriend that you're pining over him.'_

"Because. Just because." He answered. '_What kind of sorry excuse for a reason is that?'_

"Get out Bloom. I don't need your help and pity." She snapped,

"But-"

"Out."


	9. Something Stronger

**A/N: I'm so sorry this has taken me so long to write/submit. I've been going through a bit of a slump with my writing, a major case of writer's block and I just haven't been able to come up with the ideas. Honestly, I'm still not totally sure about this chapter, especially the last part of the first paragraph, but I thought it was okay as is. Random appearance from Jose because he's unloved. I aplologise again for the serious lack of update - I will try to update sooner next time. Thanks as always to Your Worst Nightmare -x and XTimeGirlX, my ever faithful reviewers. I love you guys. Seriously. Your reviews make my day. Reviews feed my soul, creativity and ego. But mainly my soul.

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**After he left she stared at the abandoned wine glass which sat on the side, the remnants of the red wine glinting in the kitchen's light, mocking her. Martha put down her own wine glass, still half full of the crimson liquid, and reached for something a little stronger. She didn't care if it tasted foul, so long as she got drunk quick enough for her to forget the day's events. She took the bottle, not bothering with a glass, and made her way to the sofa. Dumping herself down unceremoniously she unscrewed the top and took a swig. _"You need help."_ Bloom's voice echoed through her head. She shuddered at the implications. Feared his knowledge of her state of mind. If he said she needed help surely that meant he cared? _Or maybe, _the voice in the back of her head said, _he thinks you're insane and wants to see you locked away in some asylum somewhere. _She took another draught of the strong alcohol, feeling it burn, unpleasantly but at the same time agreeably, through her system. She didn't move from the sofa that night, instead she drank until she could barely hold the bottle, tears rolling down her face, dragging any remnants of mascara with them. She remembered very little of what happened that night the next morning. The last thing she remembered before passing out was the weight of a blade in her hand.

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Martha awoke to the king of all hangovers. The first coherent thought in her head was _'Why the bloody hell did I let myself get so drunk on a work night?'_ followed swiftly by _'Why am I still sat here when I'm meant to be at work?' _She sighed heavily, dragging herself up into a sitting position, pain screaming up her arms as she did so. She winced and looked down at them. _'Fuck.' _She thought as she traced the bloodied cuts down the soft skin of her arms. It wasn't so much the cuts that bothered her, but rather the idea of trying to hide them. Normally she would cut herself somewhere easily hidden, the insides of her legs, her stomach, somewhere she always kept covered anyway. Apparently not so when she was drunk. She grimaced at the thought of Anthony, Tessa or Jose seeing the cuts and forced herself to get up and get out of the clothes she had passed out in.

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Jose had never known his boss to look quite as awful as she had that morning. Martha dragged herself into the office, unusually late, and near enough collapsed into her seat. The bags under her eyes may as well have been painted on in black and her eyes themselves were bloodshot. Her appearance turned heads and started rumours. She didn't care. As long as she managed to hide the truth. As long as she kept that part of her past under wraps everything would be fine. Let them talk. Let them speculate and lie. So long as her darkest secrets stayed just that. Secret.


	10. Of Hangovers and Waiting

**A/N: I apologise again for the slow update - school work is getting stressful as of late (I've been deciding on coursework pieces and trying to get everything together) and I've been at a loss for inspiration Identity wise. I will try to update sooner next time but I can't make any guarantees. On a lighter note, thank you once again to Your Worst Nightmare -x- and XTimeGirlX for their constant support, seriously I love you guys. Your reviews make me smile and laugh, which I really should do more often. Muchos love to you both. Not an amazing chapter, but I hope you like it all the same. Reviews feed my soul, creativity and ego, but mainly my soul.

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For the first time in days they worked on a case. Martha welcomed the distraction, but in her current state she reckoned she would scare the victims' families rather than comfort them, so she left most of the questioning to Anthony and Jose. While they were out of the office she worked on the paper trails with Tessa. Trying to keep her mind on track proved difficult; hangovers were not the best of companions, she realised a little too late, when it came to concentrated work. She winced and rubbed her temples frequently; alerting Tessa that something was off. Not that the tech whizz hadn't noticed something was off earlier. If Martha's appearance was anything to go by she'd had a rough night to say the least, but she thought she'd let it rest. Martha's reaction the last time she had tried to probe for answers hadn't exactly been pleasant and, while she was curious to know what was going on, she was cautious not to arouse the same response later in the day. Now she felt she needed to know. Her boss was clearly on a downward spiral. If Martha didn't get help, or help herself there were going to be consequences. How severe Tessa could only guess,

"Martha?" she asked as the DSI rubbed her temples once again, "Martha, what's wrong?"

"It's just a headache Tessa," Martha dismissed the matter, "nothing a drop of water and a good night's sleep won't cure." This time the tech whizz was having none of it,

"But you aren't getting any sleep, are you?" her boss looked over to her and raised her eyebrows rather pathetically, "Don't give me that look Martha; I'm not the only one who has noticed."

"Tessa..." She sighed,

"Wearing a long sleeved top like that isn't going to help either." Tessa remarked,

"I'm fine." Martha all but growled, causing the tech whizz to reel back for the second time in as many days. There was a beep from the monitors and the DSI breathed a sigh of relief. Saved by the case.

* * *

John found himself sitting on a bench in the middle of a busy street. He wasn't sure why he was there exactly. Maybe he hoped to find solace in other people's chaos, or maybe, just maybe, he hoped that Martha would happen to walk by on her lunch break or run by chasing after a suspect. No matter how many times she refused him, he wanted to be there for her. He wanted to be her shoulder to cry on, her rock to lean on. He knew as well as any other, however, that such a thing would not be achieved by sitting around and waiting for it to happen. Yet still he sat. Hoping, praying, that she would see sense. He knew better than to start asking questions again after last night's incident, but that didn't mean he was going to stop trying. So he sat and stared. Watching as crowds passed by; waiting.


	11. Alone

**I'm sorry that I haven't updated for a while and that this update is so short. A-level coursework and stuff has been taking over and I've been getting very stressed lately. I'm also low on inspiration so bear with me. Thanks as ever for XTimeGirlX and Your-Worst-Nightmare-x for reviewing and your constant support. I love you guys. I hope you enjoy this chapter despite its shortness.

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**Martha was left alone in the office as Tessa left for her lunch break. She didn't have the energy to get up and wander around the city looking for somewhere to eat. Not today. So she sat in her chair staring at the computer screen. Staring at the picture of Mills' Orphanage. As she sat she felt herself drifting off, sleep finally clawing at her...

* * *

_She was young, no older than three or four years old. Her father had taken her out for a walk, just a short one, and they had stopped at a large building with a sign outside that, being so young, she could neither read nor understand. Her father bent down in front of her, so that they were at eye-level with each other, and spoke,_

"_Martha, I want you to stay her," he said, "I'll be right back." She nodded and, like the good little girl she was, she stayed. She waited and waited. Eventually a woman came out from the building, smiling softly,_

"_Hey love, why don't you come inside with me?" Martha turned to face the woman and shook her head defiantly,_

"_Waiting." She said simply and turned back round,_

"_Who are you waiting for lovie?" _

"_Daddy." He never came back. The sign, she later learned, said 'Orphanage', and it wasn't long before she learned the meaning of the word. Her Daddy didn't want her. Nobody wanted her. Nobody cared. She was alone. _


	12. Waking Up and Aimless Wandering

**A/N: Firstly I want to apologise for taking so long to write this next chapter. Coursework and A-level caught up with me and I was feeling pretty uninspired. Secondly I want to apologise for the chapter not being a brilliant standard. I hope you guys still like it all the same. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers. **

**Reviews and crits feed my creativity.  
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She woke with a start, blood pounding in her ears. Shit. She'd fallen asleep on her desk, with the website still up in clear view on her screen,

"Martha?" Anthony's voice wormed its way into her thoughts. Martha looked up to see him standing in front of her desk,

"Yes, Anthony?" her reply was solid despite her panic, "Something wrong?"

"You're crying." He pointed out matter-of-factly, "Is everything okay?"

"Oh..." she murmured, laughing awkwardly as she wiped the tears from her eyes, "Everything's fine, my eyes are just watering. You know how it is, eyes watering when you're tired." The DS didn't look convinced,

"If you're sure." He replied, uncertainty causing his voice to waver a little,

"Did you need me for something, Anthony?" he nodded,

"Me and Jose made a breakthrough with the case." He answered. She smiled back,

"I'll be right there." As Anthony walked away she breathed a sigh of relief and closed down the web page. Anything to keep her mind off everything else.

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Martha wandered aimlessly down the street. She wasn't really sure where she was going and she didn't really care either, she just needed to clear her head. She allowed her feet to lead her, drifting in and out of shops she would never usually set foot in, until she finally came to a stop in front of a coffee cart. Yes. She needed some coffee, some good strong coffee with some serious kick to keep her awake for the remainder of the day. The DSI thanked the woman who served her and wandered to a nearby bench where she sat to drink and contemplate. It wasn't until a voice piped up next to her that she realised that it might not have been such a good idea.


	13. A Little Bit Of Truth

**Another short chapter, but a chapter nonetheless. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers YourWorstNightmare-x- and XTimeGirlX, and of course to anyone else who has reviewed this fic. Love you guys! Reviews and crits feed my soul and the plot bunnies and my ego... a bit. So here it is;

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**"You know, drinking all that coffee isn't good for you, Martha." She flinched at the smooth Irish accent which invaded her ears without warning. Looking up she saw _him _smiling at her. _Smiling._ God. He had some cheek, "And it sure as hell isn't going to help you either." She shot him a glare, filled with venom and malice, but he could see through her mask as though it were glass, "You're not going to fool me with that mask of yours Martha, not anymore." Just who did he think he was?

"Fuck off." Martha replied curtly, but her disguise was slipping. Her voice wavered, her hands shook and she sure as hell couldn't bring herself to look at him,

"For God's sake, Martha, I'm only trying to help you." John snapped suddenly, "You're destroying yourself and I can't just stand by and watch you do that." _Listen to him,_ the little voice in her head laughed, _trying to reconcile, trying to convince you that he wants the best for you. What a joke. _For once even though she heard the voice very clearly, she ignored it,

"I've been destroyed for a long time, Bloom." It was the most truthful thing she had said all week. He flinched at the brutality of that truth, because he knew that's what it was,

"Martha..." His voice was pleading, "Martha, please, talk to me." _And give him more material to mock you with? You have to be kidding. _She sighed,

"No, Bloom. I don't want to talk to you. Not yet." The little voice let out a grunt, _You're not honestly considering it are you? As if he's going to help a pathetic excuse for a woman like you. Get real, Martha.

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_**Do you think it's about time Martha cracked? Or would you like me to drag it out a bit more? Leave me a message or something and let me know please guys! **


	14. Not Yet

**A/N: So here's another chapter guys! Possibly the quickest I've updated since I first started writing this. Dedicated to YourWorstNightmare-x- and XTimeGirlX, because your reviews always make me smile. Awkwardly one of you said drag it on and one of you said let it out so I'm just going to have to see what happens as I write. Enjoy this chapter, you may not get another one for a while. As always reviews and crits are much appreciated. Those plot bunnies don't feed themselves.  


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**"_Not yet."_ John's heart leapt at the words; did that mean she was finally going to open up about the state she was in? He prayed, prayed with all his being, that it did, because God knew she would fall apart if she didn't let it all out soon. If she didn't talk to someone about it, do something about it... he didn't want to think about how much it would destroy her. Martha was already a hollow shell as it was, if she were to fall or drop again without anyone to catch her it would leave her completely broken and then... then there would be not putting her back together.

He wondered idly if the rest of the team had noticed yet. If they had twigged that their boss was in such a mess. He'd be surprised if they hadn't. They were a smart bunch, even, he thought grudgingly, Anthony. But whether or not they would do anything about it was another matter altogether. Martha could be frightening when she was angry (he'd had firsthand experience of that), and in the state she was in her whole posture screamed leave me alone. He didn't know about Anthony, Tessa and Jose, but he sure as hell wasn't going to listen to that.

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"_Not yet."_ She sighed letting the gravity of the words she had spoken sink in. She would have to tell him now, one way or another. Martha shuddered visibly as she got into the lift. She wasn't comfortable with the idea of divulging her deepest secrets, least of all to him. She could barely believe she had talked to him, let alone implied that she might tell him what was wrong with her. He had betrayed her trust, more than once and the thought that she was willing to let him back in so soon scared her, not just because he could easily betray her trust again, but because it meant that she felt something for him. Usually she turned her back on people at the first sign of betrayal, letting someone back in was a sign that her threshold was weakening, that her walls were down and the heart that she had worked so hard to keep stone cold was thawing. She didn't like it. Not one bit.


	15. Of Frustration and Consideration

**A/N: Okay, wow, it's been ages since I updated - I know. First off I'd like to apologise for that, school really caught up with me in the last couple of months - coursework, exams, just everything. BUT, now I'm free of exams until next year AND the Summer holidays are coming up soon, so fingers crossed I'll get more done then. Secondly, this is another pretty short chapter, but I don't think it really needed any more. Anyway, I'll leave you to read. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers - you know who you are. Much love to you.**

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She let the hot water of the shower pound her skin, washing away the filth she felt on her body. Tiny droplets of blood fell from her arms as she scrubbed over last night's cuts, reopening the wounds. It didn't bother her, not as much as it should have. She almost enjoyed watching the pink-red whirlpool disappear down the drain of the bath. Almost. She was too busy thinking about her meeting with John to feel anything more than frustration. Why had she bothered talking to him at all? She could have ignored him or walked off, but instead she had retorted, let him talk to her, let him worm his way under her skin. Did she really want to let him in? Was it really a good idea to share her darkest secrets with him, a man she didn't really feel she knew anymore? _Of course it isn't, _the voice snorted, _Why would he even want to listen to your sob story anyway?_

She turned off the shower, leant her back against the bathroom wall and slowly slid down into the bathtub. Maybe she should tell someone. Maybe it was time she opened up and let someone in. Maybe, just maybe. But she wasn't sure if she was ready for that, not sure if she could deal with the repercussions.


	16. Floating On a Dark, Dark Sea

**A/N: Yay, I finished another chapter! Pretty soon after the last too, now that hasn't happened for a while. Well, anyway here it is - Part 16. Martha's coming closer to deciding whether to tell someone about her past and her depression. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers. I love you guys for always putting a smile on my face. **

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She groaned. She'd had little sleep the night before and the idea of going in to work was not at all appealing. But when it came down to it, in the choice between work and drowning in a sea of darkness and depression, work won hands down. No matter how many times she had considered it, allowing herself to be pulled beneath the murky waters terrified her beyond belief. For now, work would always win.

She pulled herself out of bed, throwing on one of the longest sleeved tops she could find to cover the bandages she had now wrapped skilfully around her arms. Martha had always been well versed in first aid. At first it had been for foster siblings, cleaning up cuts and scrapes, putting on plasters. But eventually it had become something she had regularly used for herself – icepacks on bruises which she refused to reveal the origin of, bandages covering cuts she had made herself. She was by no means proud of it, but it allowed her to get by.

She sighed as she wandered through to the kitchen and made herself the coffee her body desperately craved.

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As she stepped into the office she shifted uneasily, feeling the eyes of Tessa, Anthony and Jose settling on her. She could feel their gaze following her as she made her way to her desk, boring holes into the back of her skull as she made her way to her chair. Something was off and she couldn't for the life of her figure out what,

"Good Morning, Martha." She tensed as the Irish accent invaded her ears. Looking up she met his eyes and clenched her teeth,

"John." _That's what's off. _She thought bitterly.


	17. The Volcano Erupts

**A/N: Here you are guys - the next chapter. John and the team finally begin to break down Martha's walls. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers, you know I love you guys, also thank you to anyone else taking the time to read this and thank you for any story alerts and favourites - it's good to know there are people out there who are interested. Without further ado, here's the next (short) chapter;**

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"John," She said again as she sat down, "what brings you here?" Much to Martha's annoyance the Irishman smiled at her,

"Just thought I'd drop by, see how you were doing." He replied, "But it seems your team aren't so keen on me being here." As if to prove the point Anthony glowered at him,

"You're right," he said, through gritted teeth, "we're not."

"Enough!" She snapped, leaping from her chair and slamming her hands on the desk, the anger that had been boiling inside her finally overflowing. John, Anthony, Tessa and Jose all stared at her, "I've had enough of this, all of you."

"Martha." John began tentatively,

"No, John. I've had it up to here with you." The DSI growled, "You aren't welcome here. You know that full well. You're all overreacting. I'm _fine._" She stressed her final word pointedly, "I've had it with all of you asking if I'm okay." She breathed heavily as she finished, hands still firmly planted on the desk. Her arms trembled slightly as the throbbing of the cuts on her arms began anew,

"Martha, you should sit down," Tessa said softly, making her way over to the DSI's desk, "you don't look so good."

"I told you. I'm _fine_." Martha's response was feebler than before, the deprivation of sleep and the week's cases finally catching up with her,

"Cut the crap, Martha. We all know you're not." John stated matter-of-factly, this time there was no hint of argument from Anthony or the others. This was something they could all agree on.


	18. Breaking Point

**A/N: Another quick update. Possibly the last chapter before Martha spills her guts, though that could change depending on the direction the next chapter ends up taking. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers - your reviews make me smile and feed my soul with mushy goodness. Enjoy!**

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Martha stared at the team and John, feeling the carefully built walls begin to crumble under their gaze,

"Martha," Tessa began, "please let us in. We can't sit and watch you tear yourself apart."

"No," John concurred, "we can't." The DSI shook her head and bit back tears which threatened to spill down her cheeks,

"Martha." Anthony pressed,

"Please." Jose added. But Martha continued to shake her head as she dropped onto her seat,

"Not here. Not now." She murmured, "Please, I can't." A stray tear wound its way down her cheek from the crack in the dam and she cursed herself inwardly. They weren't meant to see her like this, they weren't meant to find out. _Pathetic, Martha. Look at you, crying like a baby, in front of the whole office no less._ "Shut up." _You're a mess and they don't care. _"You're wrong." _You're good for nothing, you can't hide yourself, you can't stay in one family, and you can't protect yourself. You tried to kill yourself and you couldn't even do that properly. _"Shut up!" _You know I'm right. Look at them, Martha, what do you think they'll say if you tell them? You think they'll care about your pathetic excuse of a life? _"Yes." _You're wrong, Martha. _"No. You are."

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**Yes, Martha is having an argument with the little voice in her head. We all do it from time to time, though perhaps not as dramatically or out loud...  
**


	19. Arguments and Soothing Words

**A/N: Hello my lovelies! I know it's been a while again, Summer has been my chill time, winding down from exams and then calming myself after AS results. But I did manage to finish this chapter, and I've finally decided on Univeristy Courses so I'm pretty pleased right now. Anyway, please do enjoy - thanks as always to my regular reviewers. Reviews feed my soul.**

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They could only watch as Martha fell apart in front of them, crying and arguing with herself. It was the breakdown that all of them had seen coming but none had quite wanted to believe. There was no ignoring it now, not when it was playing out so plainly before them.

Tessa watched her boss worriedly; she had known there was something wrong for a while, but a breakdown? Surely not. Not Martha. Yet here was the evidence, the DSI snapping and murmuring words to herself, as though there were someone else in the room talking to her.

_You're _wrong_, Martha. "_Shut up."_ Wrong. _"Shut up." She sobbed as she held her hands over her ears and shook her head. But the voice persisted, undeterred by her attempts to block it out. _You're nothing. No one cares. _"No." _Yes. Look around you, Martha, no one's helping you. They couldn't care less. _"That's not true." _Then why aren't they helping, Martha? Why are they just standing there? _"Shut up."

Carefully John approached her, crouching down next to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. The DSI lifted her hands from her face and apprehended him with bewilderment and fear, eyes red from the sting of tears,

"It's okay, Martha." He murmured gently, taking her hand in his, "We're here for you."


	20. Bottles, Silence and Balloons

**A/N: Hey guys. It's been ages, I know. Everything's just sort of been crazy with trying to figure out A-Levels and Universities and coursework (and all sorts of other stuff that I won't go into), and if I'm honest I totally forgot about this story. If it wasn't for the little note on my phone I probably wouldn't have updated at all. Still, here it is - another update at last. I hope you enjoy it. Love in advance to all who review, add to favourites and add to story alerts.**

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They sat in the conference room trying desperately to wrap their heads around the situation. John still held Martha's hand, though she had now calmed down she had taken to averting her eyes and staring at the floor. Tessa ran a hand through her hair and let out a shuddering sigh. Anthony leant both hands on the table and glared at it so intently that anyone would think he was trying to set it alight with his mind. Jose paced the room.

Martha needed help; no one could deny that now. The more pressing matter was why - what had caused the DCI to fall apart at the seams? She had kept it all bottled up for so long, there had to be some kind of trigger.

Silence hung in the room. It made Martha nervous. Silence wasn't normal, not at work, and she needed normal. She craved normality.

Who was she trying to kid? Things hadn't been normal for a long time. Things had been wrong and twisted since the day her Dad had walked out of her life and left her outside that damned Orphanage.

She could feel John's hand holding hers, keeping her grounded. She wanted him to let go, to let her float away like a helium balloon, but she was too tired to pull away. She was just too tired.


	21. Action Plan

**A/N: Look - another chapter! :D I think this is me subconsciously trying to make up for the fact that it always takes me so load to update or something... Anyway they're finally putting their asses into gear to find out what's happened with Martha. 'Bout bloody time too. Thanks as always to my regular reviewers - I still love you guys and your reviews. They've put a smile on my face when I needed it. Reviews feed my soul, ego and plot bunnies.**

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John watched with concern as Martha's gaze became more and more distant with each passing second and her hand became progressively limper in his. He knew it was bad, but seeing just how bad was terrifying. _We need to do _something._ She can't keep going like this. _

"Have you noticed anything off about her lately?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at Anthony, Jose and Tessa,

"She's been in a lot earlier since she was..." Tessa trailed off. She didn't need to continue – everyone knew what she was talking about,

"How much earlier?" Anthony let out a grunt behind John as if to say 'like you care', but was silenced by a sharp glare from him,

"4:30, at least." The tech whizz replied softly, "She's had files out every time."

"She's been staring at her computer screen a lot lately." Jose put in. A plan began to formulate in Bloom's mind,

"Tessa, do you think you can find out what Martha's been looking at?" He questioned, his eyes fixed on Martha, who had not even twitched during the course of their conversation,

"Of course." She replied, clearly insulted by the question, "I'm not employed for my looks you know." The joke slotted awkwardly into the tense atmosphere of the room,

"Do it." He told her with conviction. _We're going to help you, Martha. We're going to get you through this_. Tessa scurried from the room, ready to tackle her new task, "Jose." The youngest team member's head snapped up at the sound of his name,

"Yeah?"

"Can you try and find out what files she was looking at?" The younger man nodded,

"I'll do my best." He replied as he went in search of the files his boss had been browsing through, leaving John, Anthony and Martha alone in the room,

"Can we put aside our differences while we help Martha, Anthony?"

"You're lucky we're working towards the same goal, _Bloom_." Anthony said by way of answer, the venom thick in his voice. John sighed,

"I know." He said under his breath, _But I don't feel it._

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**A/N: By the way, if you have any ideas of where you'd like this story to go feel free to tell me. I aim to please ;D Plus my brain is running low on juice again xD; Thanks!  
**


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